It's Not Large, But It's Good

There's nothing quite like good news when you were kinda expecting it to be good news, but if it had been bad news it would have been really, really bad news.

Especially when it's the sort of stuff you don't want to tell people about because it's probably nothing to worry about but you're still kind of worried about it: don't want to share because it's nothing, but need to share cuz it could be something.

So my lovely wife knew, but friends mostly didn't and family definitely did not.

A couple of months ago -- heck, it was back in November -- I went for a physical. Just to get things checked out, nothing important demanding attention. But then I had to go to another office for blood work and get my blood pressure and such checked out.  Again, no big deal.

And then, in the new year, I contact my doctor to get the results. She hadn't called me, so I figure everything is hunky-dory, but it's always a good idea to follow up.

When we finally talk she tells me that everything has come back fine, but...

(And gawd knows I was not expecting a "but")

... but my heart rate is quite low. And it's probably nothing and sometimes a low heart rate is fine, but given my family history, she'd like me to see a specialist.

My father died of a heart attack years ago (one day at work, leaned over to pick something up and *boom heart attack gone* just like that) so when my doctor says it's probably nothing, I'm still thinking "Umm, no. It's something."

I checked with Stan, one of the guys on my hockey team who happens to be a doctor, happens to be a recipient of the Order of Canada, and happens to be one of just the nicest guys I know, and I asked him for his 2 cents on the matter. He told me that he's seen my play hockey, seen my heart rate go up and then come back down and there I shouldn't worry. It's good that my doctor wanted to get it checked out, but Stan felt that I shouldn't worry.

So I try not to worry.

But getting the bloody referral to a specialist takes a huge friggin' long time; as in, several calls to my doctor's office to have them chase down the specialists that are not getting back to them quick enough for my peace of mind.

Finally I see someone. He checks my heart rate, my blood pressure and also tells me that my heart rate is on the low side of normal, so let's wear a heart monitor for 48 hours and then come in for a fitness / stress test.

And the results go like this...

I do have a low pulse. Average is considered 60-90 beats a minute while at rest. My heart rate is 58-59.

At night, when according to my wife I am snoring more like a banshee, my heart rate is 35.

I happened to be playing hockey while wearing the heart monitor and my pulse climbed to 180.

And when I did their fitness test I was 58 at rest but then my pulse peaked at 166. The doctor also said he was impressed that I completed the whole 12 minutes of the fitness test.

In short, while my heart rate is below normal at rest, it shows the range that they want to see -- low at night while sleeping, goes high during exercise but then goes back to normal. He explained that if a person's pulse is low but is unable to rise with exercise, that is when they become concerned.

Oh and he also said that my low heart rate suggests that I "don't think a lot". I laughed and told him that my wife would probably agree; he then corrected himself and said that he meant I don't *worry* a lot -- that I handle stress well. I'm not sure if that's true, but I guess the heart doesn't lie.

It is strange, having a concern that you can't share. It's probably nothing, but it could be everything. I was worried that the doctor would say something like "Well, it's a good thing we caught this when we did," and I'd be told that it was a lifetime of diet and pills and very careful exercise and eggshell fragile carefulness. Knowing that things are probably okay and not to worry is not the same as being told that "Yep, it's fine. You're good. Keep doing what you're doing and go have fun."

And having that stamp of approval is pretty wonderfully awesome.

So I don't know if I'm big hearted, but I can now confirm that at the very least I am not broken hearted and from the looks of things I am good hearted.

The Weight of the World

Yesterday at physio, my therapy provider (aka The Giver of Both Relief and Pain) was talking with one of her co-workers about the scales in their office.

They said the scales at the office added 5 pounds to their weight compared to the scales they usually use.

I told her that you should never use another set of scales. Always stick with the ones you know because then (like Desmond in ‘Lost’) you have a constant. I asked her why she would use some other scales, knowing that the scales would either make her feel worse or want to beat her usual scales within an ounce of its useless, poorly functioning life.

(I also said that it’s like using someone else’s toothbrush: you can do it, but you always risk some unpleasantries.)

She replied that she can’t resist it: if she sets some scales, she has to step on them.

I then explained that I’m the same way with photos of beautiful women: if they’re there, I have to look at them.

And I realized that we had come upon the solution to the one of the great mysteries of life: What’s the difference between men and women? - Women can’t resists scales and men can’t resist pictures of women.

To extrapolate it further, both sexes would be happy and both sexes would be satisfied if we had more photographs of curvaceous women standing on scales. Women could relate to the irresistible temptation and allure of the scales; men could relate to the irresistible temptation and allure of the lovely ladies. 

I am sure that world peace is one mere step (on the scales) away.